Nestled in the Cumberland Valley with a distant view of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Gettysburg, in the commonwealth of Pennsylvania, was a town charmingly stranded somewhere between 1863 and the present. Situated among rolling hills and neat, tidy farms, it was a sleepy village until the clash of two mighty armies in July 1863. The town itself sat in the center of a web of roads, the town being the hub, the many roads the spokes in the wheel.
Fairly close to Harrisburg, the state capital, and Washington D.C., the nation's capital, it was a tourist destination for those seeking scenic beauty and a history lesson at one and the same time. Tourism was big business for Gettysburg- had been since the first curious onlooker had wandered onto the battlefield after the departure of the exhausted and bloodied armies, and walked away with a musket for a souvenir.
Every year the town welcomed thousands from around the world. Gettysburg was always a busy place in the summer months; tourists drifted in and out of town on a regular basis until fall, then the town returned to a somewhat slower pace. Still, many found the autumn months a nice change from the much warmer days of summer. South Central Pennsylvania in July, could go from pleasant to sweltering in one day, becoming quite uncomfortable and the crowds made it even more so.
Famous site of the 1863 battle that finally started the Army of the Potomac on the path to eventual victory, it accommodated many history buffs and not a few aspiring ghost hunters. Because of the high number of deaths on those three, sweltering days in July, spectral sightings had abounded, and stories had been told and passed down through the years, until truth and fiction were nearly inseparable.
Ghost tours had sprung up in the town virtually overnight and had become a cottage industry. Books telling spooky tales of phantom armies and women in white abounded. Ghostly sightings were very popular with the tourists, and one of these friendly souls had just approached Christine's cash register, armed with the very latest books of battlefield hauntings.
She quickly zapped the items and gave the short, balding man the total owed. Once the transaction was finished, she glanced at her watch and turned to a small, dark haired young woman. "It's almost seven. I told Mama I'd be home soon to help her with the Buford apartment- the attic room is rented out too." She yawned while she straightened up the counter. "The new tenant is due in sometime this evening. Will you close up?"
"No problem. Don't worry about me stuck in this old house all by myself. I'll probably have enough company just from the damned spooks," and she shivered melodramatically.
"Spooks? You need to grow a spine, girl." Christine laughed. "And stop reading those books the tourists like to buy when they come in here- they're giving you the jim-jams. I'll see you tomorrow for that breakfast I owe you."
"Sure. I promise not to break your wallet either. I cut my calories for the week."
Christine snorted. "What? No Lumberjack Special tomorrow?"
"Nope. But I might get a piece of coconut cream pie to go."
Christine rolled her eyes. "And you're cutting calories? Good luck with that."
She grabbed her purse from behind the counter, and walked out the back door of the old building. The place where she worked three days a week, was a two-story former residence converted into a souvenir shop. It wasn't an original 1863 house, but the red brick building was old- at least 100 years or better. Meg told her that sometimes at night she could hear noises coming from the second floor. Working in the evening hours and having a vivid imagination, wasn't always a good combination, she thought. Especially for someone as jumpy as Meg Giry.
She walked briskly down the sidewalk, pulling her sweater closer in the cool of the early evening. She reached the parking lot next to the tourist center and quickly located her gray Chevy Malibu. Christine unlocked the door and slid into the seat. Starting the car, she was just about to put it in gear, when the engine faltered. Holding her breath, it gradually smoothed out, and she drove out of the lot, making a left turn on Baltimore St. and headed out of town. She ran a hand through her curly dark blonde hair, not sure what was going on with her car. It had acted up like that a few times already- maybe it would be a good idea to get it to the garage and have it checked. She would hate ending up stranded in the middle of nowhere on the proverbial dark, rainy night.
She took the shortcut over to Taneytown Rd., heading in the general direction of the Confederate battle lines. Mamma Valerius's sprawling Victorian house was located on Confederate Avenue with a gorgeous view of the distant Blue Ridge mountains, which extended all the way south from Pennsylvania, and ended in the state of Georgia. Mamma wasn't any relation to Christine, but she was very dear to her- she'd been the only mother Christine had ever known, her own mother having died shortly after giving birth to her. Her father had been friends with the Valerius' for years, and she had grown up with them always being there to help Charles raise his daughter. Theo Valerius and her father had taught at Gettysburg College. Theo had succumbed to pneumonia five years ago. Christine had been there to help Elizabeth through her loss, just as the older woman helped Christine handle her grief, when Charles died two years ago from a heart attack. Both women had become even closer to each other, if that was possible, and Christine sold her parents' house and moved in with Mamma.
Together they turned the old house into a source of cash flow- small apartments on short-term leases, for people on an extended visit whether business or pleasure. Christine was a busy 22 year old helping Elizabeth with the apartments, working part-time in town and she sang in the musicals and concerts at the local community theatre. She had gone to the Sunderman Conservatory and studied voice for two years after high school. Being on the Gettysburg campus and closer to her father had been ideal; he was happy with her choice of college, and his encouragement had meant a lot to her. But after his death, her musical education languished, and one thing leading to another, two years had passed before she realized it. Someday she hoped to resume, but for now her plate was full.
She finally pulled into the driveway and killed the engine of her car. She looked up at the house and smiled to herself- more gingerbread on that house than in one of Mamma's cookies. It was a beautiful old house, with a pointed turret, tucked in one corner and a wraparound porch, with high backed rocking chairs and hanging baskets of Boston ferns. Painted a buttercup yellow with white trim, it saw the advancement of both armies in the first week of July 1863. Its floorboards had been soaked with the blood of men in the blue uniforms of the North, and the butternut homespun of the rebel army of the South. Indeed, nearly every home standing at that time had been used as a temporary hospital for the wounded and dying of both sides.
The house was bordered by fields and woods, abutting a portion of the Gettysburg Military Park. It sat there on that long ago July 3rd day, surrounded by Lee's Army of Northern Virginia, before that army had stepped out in sharp battle formation, and been sent reeling back a mere hour later, chewed up and in disarray. Their nearest neighbor was Chagny, and it was a quarter of a mile distant across the field behind the house.
She got out of her aging Malibu, and immediately noticed the unfamiliar black car in the small parking lot next to the driveway, its windows deeply tinted. The new tenant, she thought. She started up the sidewalk toward the porch, the lights on either side of the entry doors, warm and bright in the gathering darkness. Opening the door, she immediately heard the voices, one being a man's deeper tones. She was surprised by the nervousness she heard in Mamma's voice, but when her eyes took in the man standing with his back to her, she completely understood why. He was very tall, but because of his thin build, he seemed to tower over Elizabeth. His black suit was well cut and expensive looking, and despite his nearly extreme leanness, he wore it with a careless grace. But when Mamma introduced him and he turned to Christine, she was rendered speechless when she looked up into a pair of glowing yellow eyes.